


I don't want to be tied to anyone's strings

by smutpeddler



Series: i will possess your heart [3]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: F/M, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutpeddler/pseuds/smutpeddler
Summary: It's hard to tell, who's the predator and who's the prey.





	I don't want to be tied to anyone's strings

**Author's Note:**

> . i know this is a little clunky, that’s sorta how i meant it. not just because it’s my first time writing from patrick’s perspective but he doesn’t seem like a flowery kind of guy. i imagine his thoughts are very sectioned. so this was a stab at that. please tell me if you like. i know that’s so horrible. but i’m so excited about this chapter and nervous. and it sets the rest in motion and i’ll shut up now…
> 
>  
> 
> Tumblr; wherewecangazeintothestars.tumblr.com

My name is Bethany.

She sounds unsure of herself, as if her voice were just as foreign to her as it was to him. He’d never heard it before, but to be fair he’d never seen that mop of curls before or the large house at the end of a winding dirt path. She may have been fast but his long legs had kept them almost equal. She stopped in front of her house, staring at the curtained window, he ducked behind the thick trunk of a large oak tree. The door slammed, he could go home or to the junkyard. Could go find Henry, Vic, and Belch like he had originally planned to do. Instead Patrick waited.

Her parents car came up the drive and he ducked through the trees around the back of the house. There’s a glow from the highest window of the house, it’s open. Some deep, melodic song he can’t remember the name of tumbles out. It’s her room, he tucks himself into the furthest corner of the yard while still able to see. She’s not there yet, but she will be. Whatever inside her drove her to follow him to the junkyard, whatever bit of her that wondered why she had escaped, they would know even if she didn’t. Patrick was well aware of the actions of prey, she’d scurry back into her room. Scurry into her home like a little mouse. It made his mouth water, this was new. He’d never hunted human before, not like this.

Then the shrieking begins, she paces in front of the window, hidden behind closed but still sheer curtains. First it’s her mother, the curtains open and she disappears from view. Then her father tries to interrupt, the word whore echoes in the open space that their house is built on. He stops listening when she leans out the window, torso bare except for a snug, black bra. Curls and skin almost glowing in the moonlight. She’s not real, he knows that. But there’s something ethereal about how unreal she was, as if he hadn’t conjured her up but something else had and then dropped her right in the way of his reality. Beautiful had never been a word that had crossed his mind before, but this felt at least halfway there.

She leans back, a cigarette appears, the lighter bringing more to his prying gaze. Her lips are thick and pouty, her cheeks round and high, chin almost sharp. There are little lines on her skin he can’t quite make out. Patrick licks his lips at what he hopes they might be crosses his mind. She stands there, inhaling the smoke deeply and exhaling. He watches her pert tits rise and fall with each drag, the taut plain of her stomach opposite in it’s rhythm. He knows exactly what she’s thinking about, it’s him. Him seeing her. She’d never meant to be seen then, but the way she stares vacantly into the night he wonders if she had ever intended to be seen at all. Or is she all his?

The cigarette disappears into the grass, almost dead before it hits the dewy, dying green. The wind kicks in,her eyes pull back, as if she’s suddenly aware that there’s a whole world around her. And before long her eyes find him. They know it’s him, the way they stare hard. Next she would step back, hide from the monster the whispers made him out to be. She doesn’t, just glances at the place the last of the cigarette’s cherry smolders in the damp.

And then she says it. Bethany. She doesn’t seem to know her own voice when she speaks it into the night. My name is Bethany. He flicks his lighter, just for a moment. Maybe he wants to scare her, he’s not sure, but he does want her to know he’s truly there, not an imagined paranoia. It’s almost like she can see him, even though he knows she can’t. There’s something on her face, something he can’t read, something he’s never seen. But he wants more of it. He wants to take everything she’s willing to give and more. Break everything in her that isn’t already broken.

With carefully timed steps, he moves into the moonlit clearing of her backyard, eyes staring up at her with the same intensity her’s had while she crouched behind the rotting appliance. Other girls shriek when he spies. The one’s who expect him look at him with come hither glances that make very clear they have no idea who he is. This is neither. The way she stares at him, it’s deep, she holds his gaze as if it’s the only thing left she knows how to do. His tongue darts to wet his lips, what could he do with this sort of compliance? How far could he bend her before she broke?

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t speak, just shoves his hand in his jean pockets and heads back towards the dirt path. He’ll admit he wants to look back, predators don’t turn their backs, but he doesn’t. This is a different kind of game. And for the first time in a while, Patrick was truly excited. All because of Bethany.


End file.
